The birthday cake (or something that looks like one)
by FrancescaBoscorelli
Summary: Its Joan's birthday and Sherlock tries to do something special for her but fails. Joanlock. Fluff, just fluff. Not too fond of the title. R/R


_**A/N: I dear friend on tumblr gave me this brilliant idea: Sherlock tries to make a birthday cake for Joan but fails. Still she's very happy about it. SO BOOM! here it is. Its not DEF NOT the greatest fic ever but I tried. I really did. **_

_**Kudos to my dearest friend, Lily. I LOVE YOU 5EVER.**_

* * *

It wasn't his thing. Not entirely. He wasn't romantic, he wasn't sweet, he wasn't nice. Joan tried to convince him that he was once and he had told her time and time again that he wasn't going to change.

He lied.

Several times.

He could indeed be good, he could also be romantic, and he could also be very sweet. At least that was what Emily had told him when he called her on the phone (she actually screamed about it). He needed an advice, that's why he had called her in the first place, because it was Joan's birthday and he totally sucked when it came to romance, which meant he had no idea what to give her as a gift. He wanted to give her something that said _'you're a good friend to me, I care about you_' instead of _'I love you'_. Because he wasn't going to kid anyone, he loved her. Yes, he did. More than he could possibly describe. He wasn't going to tell her though, no. That wasn't an option at all. He treasured their friendship too much to ruin it with a soppy love confession so…

That's why he stood in the kitchen, taking pots and ingredients to create his present; a birthday cake. It was the only thing he could come up with because Emily hadn't been exactly helpful. After she'd screamed 'oh my god you're so sweet!' she had suggested a love letter. He wasn't going to write a love letter! Hadn't she understood when he'd said 'I suck at all things romantic'? A love letter was practically a love confession. He couldn't do that, no. So at the end he went for the birthday cake instead. He was good at baking, and she had mentioned before that she liked his Chelsea Bun.

He had also taken the opportunity that he had Emily's help to drag Joan out of the house. She had called to tell him that she was going to invite her over for lunch, then force her to stay so he could work on his present. She was also very excited. Emily, NOT Joan.

Odd.

But not very surprising.

Joan had mentioned, not once but twice, that Emily thought of them as a good couple. Which now would explain the excitement.

Alright, moving on to the actual making of the birthday cake. He had all the ingredients, the time and the energy. What he was worried about was the fact that it was his first time cooking a chocolate cake. He was good at baking some things, he wasn't an expert, he could indeed fail. He was still going to try, he would do anything to make her smile.

Sherlock grinned. He was indeed very much in love with Joan Watson, he loved her enough to try and do something he had never done before with the chance of failing miserably. He didn't like the feeling of failure but he liked the feeling of 'I tried therefore you can't judge me'.

* * *

Emily had called her at exactly 9 am. Screamed happy birthday and proceeded to invite her to her house for lunch. She was inclined to say no, because for the first time in many years she wanted to stay home and do absolutely nothing. Or probably the reason was she wanted to stay at the Brownstone and spend the day with Sherlock, but she wasn't about to say that to her friend. Either way she said yes, Emily could be very persistent and she sounded extremely excited.

"Sherlock?" Joan called him. The house was way too quiet for her taste, but she was certain he was still there. Two minutes later and at least five times calling his name, he emerged from his room.

"Watson, were you calling my name?" he asked her.

"Yes. I wanted to tell you I'm going to be away for the day." Joan explained. "Emily called and she wants to have lunch with me so…"

"Of course. Go ahead. Have fun." he said all too quickly. He usually suggested calling her in case something came up with a case, this time he didn't. Not even once. This was way too odd but either way she didn't let to be bothered by it.

"Alright."

And to be fair she wasn't going to let the fact that he had completely forgotten about her birthday make her sad. Because she wasn't going to be.

No.

Of course not.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't the type of man who cursed, or used extremely harsh words to describe his sentiments. He didn't swear. At least not all the time. Right now though, right now he cursed, screamed, yelled repeatedly.

It had been more than three hours and two failed attempts at making a simple chocolate birthday cake. It was supposed to be done by now. The cake was supposed to be resting on top of the kitchen table, decorated with 'happy birthday Joan' and birthday candles. Instead said cake lay in the trashcan, completely burnt. Hence him being furious. Hence him being completely and utterly disappointed.

He wasn't disappointed because he had failed at baking a cake, he could always try again and he would probably succeed. He was disappointed because he felt he had failed her, he was going to make her something special because she deserved it. And now there was nothing.

Except a smelly kitchen, a frustrated man and so many dirty utensils he didn't even know where to begin.

"Sherlock, I'm home!"

The minute he heard his name and her voice, his heart stopped.

"Bollocks…"

* * *

The first thing Joan noticed when she walked into the brownstone was the smell. A strange burnt smell. Her initial thought was Sherlock had been doing a fail experiment with fire, but the smell strangely resembled burnt food. He had been cooking? Probably. But Sherlock was a good cook, he never burnt anything, at least not intentionally.

The second thing she noticed, actually heard, was a very loud curse coming from the kitchen.

She walked into the kitchen and what she saw shocked her, not in a very good way. The place was filthy, smelly and dirty. There were utensils, eggs shells, paper wrappers, spoons and flour everywhere. And then Sherlock standing in the middle, looking very frustrated and angry. He was wearing a white apron and he held a spoon in his hand, while the other one was in a tight fist his knuckles had turned white from anger.

"Sherlock?" she called his name while she slowly (very slowly) approached him. He lifted his head enough to look at her and sighed. "Are you alright?"

"No." he responded.

"Were you trying to make something?" she asked, though the response was kind of obvious. "Were you trying to make…"

"A chocolate cake." he told her.

"I guess it didn't turn out so well…" Joan told him and made a face when the smell hit her nostrils.

The only response she got was Sherlock pointing directly towards the trashcan. It was then when she noticed the burnt cake.

"Nope." he told her.

"Well, you could always try again." she suggested

He stared down at his chocolate stained apron and the spoon he held in his hand with disappointment and sighed.

"Right." he responded. "Though I needed it for today. It was supposed to be your birthday present so…happy birthday."

A small grin creeping in Joan's face and Sherlock eyed her strangely.

"You made this for me?" she asked him with amazement.

"Didn't exactly work out though…"

"But you tried and that's the only thing it matters."

"Yeah…"

Joan took two steps towards him and he watched her every move with sudden expectation. Once she was very close, only a few inches apart, she held his face between her hands and dropped a tender kiss on his cheek, letting her lips linger for a few seconds.

He breathed in, his heart beating fast at the feel of her soft lips against his skin. Surely he never thought this particular event would turn out like this, but he wasn't entirely dissatisfied about it. When she pulled away, her lips at least, he couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face. She looked more delightful than disappointed like he thought she would be, she was amused even.

"I think this is the sweetest thing you've ever done for me." she told him, her hands that left his face now carefully rested on his chest.

"I'm not sweet." he responded quickly, shaking his head as he spoke.

"Yes, you are."

"No…"

"This. This is something that no one has ever done for me, ever. And I don't care how many times you say so, you have to believe me when I tell you; you are the sweetest, most wonderful man I've ever met."

"I am wonderful…" he whispered and she patted him playfully on the chest.

"Anyways, thank you." she spoke finally. "For all of this"

"Even if it didn't work?"

"Yes." she responded. "Thank you. This is the best birthday I've ever had."

"You're welcome. So, if you're happy about this failed outcome, does that mean you'll help me clean up this mess?" he asked hopefully and made the cutest puppy eyed face he could muster.

"Nope! Still my birthday and you didn't give me any cake, so you're on your own." she told him, pulled apart and marched out of the kitchen, blowing a kiss before disappearing out of the room.

He didn't know if it was that kiss, or that touch, or that smile but Sherlock was partially convinced the feelings he had for Joan were mutual, and that made him happier than anything he had ever experienced before.

I guess he should start being romantic and charming from now on

**the end!**


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